


bruises, on both my knees for you

by leaflibrarian



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Bathing/Washing, Bottom Bucky Barnes, Bucky Barnes Feels, Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, Bucky Barnes Recovering, Bucky Barnes Remembers, Butt Plugs, Cock Warming, Cuddling & Snuggling, Dacryphilia, Deepthroating, Domestic Discipline, Emotional Porn, Face-Fucking, Falling In Love, Gags, Hair-pulling, Hand Feeding, Light Angst, Light BDSM, Light Bondage, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Masturbation, Mutual Pining, Name-Calling, Nightmares, Porn Watching, Post-Serum Steve Rogers, Praise Kink, Rough Oral Sex, Rough Sex, Service Submission, Sharing a Bed, Spanking, Steve Rogers Feels, Subspace, Top Steve Rogers, Touch-Starved, Webcam/Video Chat Sex, Wet Dream, Winter Soldier Bucky Barnes, like 70 years of pining, really it's ridiculous
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-25
Updated: 2019-08-13
Packaged: 2020-07-19 13:00:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 17,094
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19974478
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/leaflibrarian/pseuds/leaflibrarian
Summary: ““It’s okay if you want to touch me,” Bucky says, apropos of nothing at all.“I’m touching you right now, Buck,” he says, arms tightening in their hold on Bucky’s waist.“No,” he says, and Steve can practically see the cogs and gears turning in his head. “I mean, more.”“Of course, Buck, I could do that.”“I just—I mean, it’s just I—” he falters, unsure of what words to say and the right order to say them in.“You just what, hm?” he pries gently, grinning at Bucky all sprawled out on top of him.“Like,more,”Bucky’s face is painted a deep red, spreading all the way to his chest. All at once, Steve understands just exactly what he’s asking for, and his heart skips in his chest like it’s 1940 again and he’s still got that heart murmur.”AKA: A Bucky Barnes recovery fic with two idiots in love, and Steve letting Bucky ask for what hereallywants.





	1. creeping around like no one knows

**Author's Note:**

> a story told in three phases: recovery, discovery, and reverie.
> 
> hellooooo! I've never really written a fic other than PWP so this is all new to me! I hope you enjoy reading!  
> title is from Bad Guy by Billie Eilish (which, this song is a huge inspiration to the story, so.... *winky face*)
> 
> unbeta'd as always, mistakes are all mine. if there are any glaring mistakes please let me know!

Bucky would rather have his teeth pulled,  _ sans anesthesia _ , than admit his weaknesses. He’s never been one to lay belly-up and bare himself to the world, flaws and all for everyone to see. 

He’d never subject himself to that kind of torture—all eyes on him, judging and dissecting him like a bug under a magnifying glass.

When Hydra took everything away from him? That’s all he was. A bug under a magnifying glass. Another puppet to dance for them, execute their orders like the perfect little solder they’d engineered him to be.

He bit off more than he could chew in the Recovery Department when he released himself from Hydra’s stranglehold, and it took a lot of pride to admit that he couldn’t shoulder his getting better all by himself.

But, by the grace of God himself, one thing remained constant in his life—as constant as the Northern Star. 

Steve.

Steve, Steve, _Steve._

Still so pink-cheeked and eager, just as the day he met him on the playground  in Brooklyn , 1930. Wholesome and intact. Still also just as stubborn and hard-headed when faced with a challenge, never doing anything half-assed, and ready to devote himself religiously to everything he does.

Which, unsurprisingly, is the exact thing he does with Bucky’s recovery.

Steve pulled no punches. He insisted that Bucky stay in his quarters in Stark Tower, as beautiful and brazen as ever, leaving no margin for argument, and insisted that  _ no, you cannot mess around with his brain, Tony, for fuck’s sake. _

He graciously offered up his guest bedroom, albeit a bit dusty and sterile-looking, but he made Bucky feel welcome.

Which, he hasn’t felt in a long time.

He offered up his home and his time to help him recover, and if there is ever a time that Bucky is ungrateful, then by God—strike him dead right then and there. 

Because only once in a lifetime do you get yourself a one Steve Rogers. And he’s not taking him for granted anymore,  _ never again _ .

And when Bucky opened his mouth to utter a sentence— _ not _ the telegraphic speech he’d been using since Steve had first encountered him— to thank Steve for his unyielding kindness, he’d been met with an,  _ of course, Buck, why wouldn’t I be anything other than kind to my best guy?  _ As if it were the easiest answer in the world and not some  monumentous exaltation.

He’s surprised he didn’t cry right then and there. Out of what? Out of  joy , or shock, or jealousy? He can’t tell. But the least he could offer is a meek smile and start unpacking his few belongings. 

He’s not quite ready with touching just yet, but he’d hug Steve so hard that his eyes would bulge right out of their sockets if he could.

He’s working his way up to that.

\--------------

He knows that he’s been living in the same apartment as Bucky for a while now, but it still feels like he’s living by himself.

Bucky’s like a ghost, leaving no trace of his being there, and clearing out of the room before Steve even enters, like he’s able to read his mind. He lives up to his name that was given to him by Hydra— _ The Ghost _ .

He doesn’t want to think about that for too long.

Steve cooks all of the meals for the two of them, leaving a tray by Bucky’s closed bedroom door with a light knock, and then coming back up to take the plate away when he’s finished.

He tries his hardest not to make Bucky feel unwelcome in his home. Everything that he’s ever done has been dedicated to Bucky, making every decision on grounds of,  _ what would Bucky think?  _ Or,  _ what would Bucky do?  _

He’s been gone on Bucky since the dawn of time and the fact that he’s willing to put being Captain America  _ on hold _ until Bucky gets better, speaks words that he’d never be able to string together, even if he tried. 

Of course, it makes him upset that Bucky doesn’t feel comfortable with him just yet, but he doesn’t blame him. He’s not fully even comfortable with  _ himself _ yet, like a newborn foal just learning how to walk on its wobbly little legs.

Sam had told him just to give him his own time to gather himself together and then meet him with only encouragement from there on.

“Progress isn’t linear, Steve,” Sam said resigned, clasping his hands together like the trained therapist he is.

“I know,” he sagged, “It just feels like he doesn’t even want to be near me. Am I doing something wrong?”

“You’re doing everything exactly right.”

“Then why does it feel like I’m still living alone?”

Sam gives him a pitiful look. “You just need to give him time, man. He’ll come around. If he ever wants to reach out and get some therapy and treatment, you know where to find me.”

Steve gives a watery laugh. “I think you’re a little underqualified for that.”

“I’ve seen worse, Steve. I’ve dealt with worse. There’s just a...  _ learning curve,  _ is all. I don’t think I’ve met anyone with his history other than you,” he chuckles, “but I think I could be accommodating.”

“Thanks, man. I really appreciate it.”

“No problem. You’re doing everything right, Steve. Let him take the pace.”

_ Let him take the pace. _

From then on, that’s exactly what he does. 

He allows Bucky to warm up eventually, not pushing the envelope or making him feel like a cornered wild animal. 

Eventually Bucky starts coming down for meals. Not in the same  _ room _ as Steve, but it’s still progress. He eats his meals on the gigantic L-shaped sofa in the living room, watching some television show about space and some big blue box  _ thing.  _

Steve still hasn’t really gotten the hang of using their TV, thus subsequently, is not caught up on most television shows.  So sue him. He knows how to use the VCR, and that’s a start at least.

He cherishes the good days he has with Bucky, the moments where Bucky isn’t afraid to ask for what he wants. Bucky sometimes forgets that he has full autonomy over everything in his life.

So, when Bucky asks him shyly to show him how to use Amazon to order a metric  fuckton of fuzzy blankets and pillows, his heart swells about a thousand sizes. He fights off the tears creeping in his eyes and orders them for Bucky, feeling overflowing with pride that Bucky feels comfortable to ask for things.

Because he knows that Bucky deserves all the comfort and good things in the world, and if he can’t provide him with that, then what’s the point of being here?

It’s all worth the tiny, awed smile that Bucky bestows him with as he picks up the big boxes addressed to him and carts them off to his room. 

When he comes back up later in the day, Bucky’s door is left open a crack— the closest indication he could give Steve that it’s okay to come in to his room now. He makes the mistake of peeking in.

“Hi,” comes a small voice from underneath a mountain of blankets.

“Enjoying your new blankets, I see,” he laughs a bit, mirth tangled in his words.

“Yes.”

“You hungry, Buck?”

“Yes,” his voice is muffled by the mountain of fluff, so it comes out more like, “ess.”

Bucky’s not acting averse, so he stays in the room a moment longer, hoping to wheedle a few more words out of him. Get him to be a bit more autonomous.

“You want anything specific?”

Bucky thinks for a moment. “Hot dogs.”

“Hot dogs?” He fights back a laugh.

“Mhm.”

“You got it, Buck. Hot dogs, coming right up.” He closes the door with a click and starts to get dinner ready.

\-------------

It’s a few months later when Bucky’s nightmares start, full force.

Steve’s woken up by a loud thud and thrashing sound coming from the room adjacent to his, and a wounded cry.

Sam had told him to expect this, that Bucky wouldn’t be one hundred percent smooth sailing from here on. He said that he’d dealt with people who would break things, or hurt people, or  _ worse, _ hurt themselves.

He took it upon himself to remove any objects that Bucky could possibly hurt himself with from his room. A gnawing guilt works its way from his stomach to his throat at admitting that he’d basically given Bucky the baby safety scissors, but it’s better safe than sorry.

He knows that Bucky could full well hurt himself with  _ himself,  _ what with his metal arm and other modifications Hydra has given him. But if it helps him sleep better at night knowing he essentially  super-soldier -proofed Bucky’s room, then so be it.

Steve throws the sheets off of his body and his socked feet sweep lightly against the hardwood as he tentatively moves to Bucky’s door. 

“Buck?” He taps at the door lightly, and the thrashing stops for a beat, so he turns the knob and edges into the room.

He sees Bucky’s listless form on the sheets, fluffy pink blanket strewn across the floor as well as all of the others. Bucky moans in his sleep, thrashing and crying out, words and moans caught in his throat.

“It’s okay, Buck, I’m here, you’re okay. It’s September 2 3 rd , and you’re in Stark Tower with me,” he croons, sitting sentinel like a silent protector at Bucky’s side.

If only he could forever protect him, shield him from scrutiny and from pain. He wishes that there were some way that he could transfer Bucky’s pain unto him. He never asked for this to happen to him, and he’s still feeling the effects. He doesn’t deserve that sort of weight.

Bucky’s breath finally catches up to him, his panting loud in the quiet, still room.

“Oh,  _ Steve,” _ Bucky croaks, pulling Steve closer and pressing his forehead to his muscled shoulder.

“It’s okay, Bucky, I’m here now. You’re safe. I won’t let anyone hurt you here.”

Steve’s unsure if Bucky wants him to touch him, other than his forehead  mooshed into his chest, so he respects his boundaries and keeps his arms stapled to his sides.

“I know, Steve.”

\---------------

Bucky’s nightmares didn’t ease up after that point, the terrors making their appearance every night onward like clockwork.

Steve had done his best to calm him after them, just sit there and listen to his breathing slow down. Some sort of primal part of him just wants to keep Bucky in his arms and feel his heartbeat and match their breathing, just to make sure he’s still alive and safe.

This night is different, and makes Steve’s heart swell with pride that Bucky is becoming more and more comfortable in their home.  _ Their home. _

He’s waited years, decades,  _ eons _ , just to be able to say those words. This is his home now, with Bucky, and he wouldn’t have it any other way.

Steve is woken up out of the middle of his sleep to feel the left side of his bed dip and groan, and the covers being ruffled and pulled.

He opens his sleep-bleary eyes to see Bucky nestled in his bed, rings under his eyes and deep lines on his face, but still as beautiful as ever and the sight steals the breath from his lungs.

“Hi.”

“Hey, Buck, what’s up?” he asks while feigning placidity with having Bucky so close to him, trying his best not to pervade Bucky and make him flee like a frightened street cat.

“I had a bad dream.”

“You  wanna talk about it?”

He already knows that Bucky won’t want to talk about it, but he tries to get him to open up just the slightest bit, just to try. To let him know that it’s okay to talk about these things now.

“No,” he decides, meek and small, exhaling a long-held breath into the pillow.

“Okay,” he says simply, for a loss of what else to say that wouldn’t make Bucky feel cornered.

Bucky just turns to face him in bed, grey eyes big and doe-like, and outstretches his arms, a silent plea for contact—for comfort.

What kind of man would Steve be, to deny Bucky of what he wants?

_ No man at all, _ is what he’d be.

He meets Bucky in the middle and comes closer, pulling him easily to his chest. Bucky lets out a soft puff of air and a quiet  _ hmmf _ of contentment and snuggles himself right up to Steve, easy as breathing and no second thoughts.

Tears threaten to escape Steve’s eyes, at the silent submission that Bucky’s offered to him, like a gift all wrapped up in pretty paper and a glittering bow. Secret and sweet, just for him.

His love for Bucky wants to just spill right out of his chest like a tsunami; words of love unsaid ache to leave his throat.

Oh.  _ Oh. _

He loves Bucky.

Not like a friend, or a brother, but as something  _ more. _

And for some reason, that revelation changes nothing for him. 

In books and movies, love has always been portrayed as some sort of monumental discovery. Life changing and illuminating, burning bright and golden. The character’s life was dull and grey, and then suddenly,  _ headfirst,  _ they fall in love and the universe rings out a harmonious chord and then their life is colorful and wonderous.

His life has always been full of color. Even when his body was small and frail, addled with illness and knocking on Death’s door. And it’s all because he’s had the same person by his side all the time.

He’s just  _ always _ loved Bucky. He’s never needed to find it—he's had it beside him all along. 

It’s as simple as that.

\----------------

That small little invitation to touching that Bucky had given Steve that night seemed to break the levee for his touch-aversion, and evolved into his wanting to be cuddled _ twenty-four-seven _ . 

Not that Steve is complaining, because having a warm and sleepy Bucky dozing on his chest at almost all times is a thing he thought he could only get in the deepest recesses of his brain. 

“It’s okay if you want to touch me,” Bucky says, apropos of nothing at all.

“I’m touching you right now, Buck,” he says, arms tightening in their hold on Bucky’s waist. 

“No,” he says, and Steve can practically see the cogs and gears turning in his head. “I mean, more.”

“Of course, Buck, I could do that.”

“I just—I mean, it’s just I—” he falters, unsure of what words to say and the right order to say them in.

“You just what, hm?” he pries gently, grinning at Bucky all sprawled out on top of him.

“Like,  _ more,”  _

Bucky’s face is painted a deep red, spreading all the way to his chest. All at once, Steve understands just exactly what he’s asking for, and his heart skips in his chest like it’s  1940 again and he’s still got that heart murmur.

“It’s your call, Buck,” he said simply. 

“It’s always been you and me, Steve. You’re it for me.”

He feels like an idiot, just sitting there staring at Bucky, somehow thinking that the longer he stares at him the easier the words will come to him. 

They don’t.

He can only think of the constant chant inside his head, repeating  _ I love you, I love you, I love you, _ like some sort of mantra that could cure his every ailment, soothe his every wound, but the time just isn’t right.

It feels like it never is.

“I waited for you, for so long, Bucky. I—” his voice cracks, “I never thought I’d ever get you again.”

“I’m here now. ‘M not goin’ anywhere.”

At that, Bucky perches up on his forearms on Steve’s chest to plant a light peck on his cheek. 

His face is scratchy from not having shaved in a while, and his lips are chapped and faded from gnawing at them. He smells like Steve’s shampoo and sweat and something that’s all  _ Bucky—  _ hasn’t changed in the slightest since they shared a bed in 1939.

His heart is no longer in his chest.

It’s at home lying right on his chest, puffing breaths sweetly as he drifts off to sleep, using him as a human pillow.


	2. i like it when you take control

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> they both discover something... new about the other, as well as themselves.
> 
> EDIT: I went back and edited some coding issues that made weird spaces pop up everywhere, as well as addressing some grammatical and spelling errors. Also, I just peppered in a few minor things to spice it up. No major changes made. A _huuuuge_ thank you is in order to the gracious Yokogreyword for pointing out my goofs!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is where some of the kinky stuff begins, so enjoy the filth!!  
> unbeta'd as always, so all mistakes are mine. :)

Bucky had made an effort to become more vocal about what he wanted, and with each time he made his opinions known and acted on his free will, Steve would fall all over him like a damn puppy without its owner.

Really, it probably seems ridiculous to outside spectators, how _eager to please_ Steve is, and how much of that trait is spent on _Bucky._

Bucky would make simple requests— an otherwise unimportant happening for someone else— like what he wants to watch that night on TV, or ask to pick out what foods he wants from the grocery store.

Steve would reward Bucky’s good behaviors with a hug, and he would fall willingly right against his chest and it’s just so damn _good._

Or, Steve would give him a syrupy kiss on the cheek and just smile at him like a grinning loon for the rest of the day.

Being with Steve is like the best drug he could get his hands on, and he can’t recall feeling like this _ever._

He can’t get drunk with this knockoff serum swimming in his veins, but Bucky’s willing to bet that this is a damn good semblance to that feeling. 

Bucky’s nightmares still haven’t stopped happening, and a small part of him fears that they won’t ever stop. 

They’ve become less physical, though, by a _huge margin._

____

The only thing that’s really seemed to calm him after his night terrors is having Steve there to sweep a comforting hand along his spine, or to restrain him with his body like a human straitjacket on the rare occasion he’s become physically violent. 

____

He’d tackle Bucky into an embrace from behind, pulling him into a basket hold, and lie with him on the floor or the bed on their sides until Bucky stopped his thrashing and crying. 

____

After realizing that he couldn’t possibly escape Steve’s grip, he’d melt into the restraint as if it were a loving hug instead of a human handcuff. 

____

So, Steve nixed the idea of having Bucky so far away from him at night and just bolstered himself into asking Bucky if he wanted to share a bed again—not that he’d remember those days, right? 

____

Only he looked Steve dead in the eye and said, _“You’ve always been a snorer, Stevie, but if it helps us both sleep better at night, I’ll suffer through it.”_

______ _ _

And Steve just looked at him like he’s never seen a more beautiful thing in the entire world and just about crushed his ribcage with a forceful hug. 

______ _ _

Bucky’s nights became just that little bit much better—by having Steve plastered against his side, churning off heat like a furnace and his nose pressed up into his jugular. 

____\-----------------_ _ _ _

Turns out that part of recovering, is realizing that your dick still works.

______ _ _

Also, at the most inappropriate times. 

______ _ _

Bucky turns over in the bed, slipping out from under Steve’s big bear arms, trying his best not to wake him. Because if Steve wakes up right now, it would be one _real_ embarrassing conversation. 

______ _ _

Forgive him if he’s not really willing to have that one at this moment. 

______ _ _

Steve just snuffles and shifts, twitches his nose and rolls over flat onto his belly. Bucky huffs a breath of relief, turns to sit on the side of the bed and drives the heel of his palm against his cock for relief. 

______ _ _

The morning sun shines in through the slatted blinds, conveniently burning right into his corneas, serving as a reminder as to why he is _not_ and will _never_ be a morning bird. 

______ _ _

He’ll save that one for Steve, thank you very much. 

______ _ _

Thankfully, Steve’s got one of those fancy memory foam mattresses, so Bucky doesn’t jostle the mattress as he gets up and books it to the bathroom to relieve himself. 

______ _ _

His erection is making itself known loud and proud, sticking up inside his loose boxers. 

______ _ _

If he could, he’d just go to the master en-suite bathroom and do it there, but it would just make things more awkward than they need to be. 

______ _ _

So, he practically _runs_ down the hall to the main bathroom and slams the door shut. 

______ _ _

He decides that his best plan of attack is to run the shower and turn on all the shower heads so it could drown out any sounds he might make. 

______ _ _

If his past performance with sex is indicative of his future tendencies, then he knows he’s a _moaner._

______ _ _

Going with his better judgement, he turns the knobs on the shower to _just the right temperature,_ feeling a bit like Goldilocks. 

______ _ _

It’s really a win-win that Steve happened to pick the shower with about a billion heads. 

______ _ _

He shucks the clothes off his body like they’re burning him alive, and hops into the rushing water. 

______ _ _

The water pressure is amazing, releasing knots he didn’t even know he _had._

______ _ _

He pulls his good hand to run along his shaft, feeling along a thick vein running across the length of it. 

______ _ _

His knees buckle at the sensation and he draws in a breath through clenched teeth. 

______ _ _

He’s more sensitive there, now, than he remembers. He feels like he’s thirteen again, popping a boner for the first time ever, just fisting his dick and coming in an instant. 

______ _ _

That is definitely not something he wants to happen right now—he wants to really _enjoy_ this. 

______ _ _

So, he just trails a finger up and down the underside of his dick, feeling that telltale warmth sprouting in his chest and breathing in time with it as it blooms. 

______ _ _

He rubs his thumb in a circle around his tip, dribbling wet and impatient. He moans shakily at the feeling, wanting more and more of it already. 

______ _ _

He forms a fist around the base and gives it a good squeeze— _testing the waters_ —and practically _doubles over_ from the sensation. 

______ _ _

He lets out a long, broken moan, finally stroking up and down on his cock in a steady rhythm. 

______ _ _

Tilting his head back, his open mouth collects water from the steady stream flowing at his sides and back. 

______ _ _

His moan echoes a bit with the tiling in the bathroom, and he hopes that it’s adequately camouflaged by the sounds of rushing water. 

______ _ _

He wonders if Steve’s awake now; he’s usually up with the sun. It’s a bit surprising that he hadn’t woken up before Bucky, since usually _he’s_ the one conked out until at least ten o’clock. 

______ _ _

By then, Steve would have his run, his shower, and his breakfast in and he’d be ready for the day. 

______ _ _

Steve’s always up at the asscrack of dawn doing something, and Bucky’s not sure how he even does it. 

______ _ _

He stays crazy fit, runs about ten miles a day like it’s no big deal, and he’s got a lateral spread the size of the Continental United States. 

______ _ _

Bucky’s hand unconsciously quickens its lazy jerks on his dick, and a broken moan catches in his throat as warmth floods his insides. 

______ _ _

God, _Steve._

______ _ _

He’s got lashes for miles and that ol’ good boy smile, broad shoulders to high heaven, and thick, powerful thighs. 

______ _ _

He wonders what it’d feel like being held up by those thighs, as he spreads himself wide and open, _nice and slick,_ and gets himself all lined up to sink down on his— _oh god._

______ _ _

Guilt consumes him as he thinks about Steve in that way, but his ever-so-traitorous hand picks up its speed in stroking his cock. 

______ _ _

He looks down to see that it’s an angry reddish-purple, oozing with slick, and the central vein is throbbing so visibly it looks painful. 

______ _ _

_Fuck feeling guilty,_ he decides, shrugging a metal shoulder, and lets his imagination take him away while he works over his cock. 

______ _ _

He’s recovering. _So sue him._

______ _ _

The shampoo and body wash bottles on the rack serve as his only witnesses, and he supposes they won’t tattle on him _this time._

______ _ _

So, he imagines Steve fucking him into the mattress, breathing hotly against his neck, radiating the scent of his cologne and shampoo. 

______ _ _

And he’s just _so warm_ — radiating heat and filling him to the brim with his presence, making him swell with it. 

______ _ _

He imagines himself having no choice but to lay there and just _take it;_ Steve’s handcuffed him to the bed and a firm hand is keeping him down by the neck. 

______ _ _

He imagines Steve would hold him by his hips with his huge paws, and they’d leave a pretty, perfect bruise. 

______ _ _

He knows the marks would fade by sunrise, but he’d relish them while he could. Steve would use his brutal grip on Bucky’s hips as leverage to pump into him rough and fast like an animal, breath coming in heavy pants. 

______ _ _

And he’d just fuck into him from behind with abandon, careless and rough. 

______ _ _

He’d let Steve take his fill; he’s just acting as stress relief for another hard day at work. 

______ _ _

Just let Steve take what he wants. 

______ _ _

That’s the thing about Bucky and Steve— it’s always been Steve _taking what he wants._ Walking into the place and acting like he owns everyone, barking orders left and right; everyone bows at his feet and obeys. And it’s never failed to drive Bucky _mad._

______ _ _

Just the ability to be able to provide Steve what he wants is gratifying— letting Steve know that he’d be willing to do anything for him at the drop of a hat. 

______ _ _

People have always thought that it’s been Steve chasing at Bucky’s coattails since the Great Depression, when really, it’s the other way around. 

______ _ _

Bucky has always been willing to follow Steve anywhere, trusting his judgement and letting him take the driver’s seat. 

______ _ _

He’d never tell anyone that much— but Steve’s just that type of guy. 

______ _ _

Even when he was five-foot-tall and weighed as much as the crates he lugged around at the docks. 

______ _ _

Steve’s always been a chest-puffed, _I’ll take what I want_ kind of guy, and Bucky’s been the guy to give it to him willingly. 

______ _ _

Bucky moans loudly at the thought, and begins to flick his wrist as he strokes. He’s close, he can tell, but he’s still got a little while yet. 

______ _ _

“You’ve been such a _bad boy,”_ he imagines Steve saying lowly, voice deceptively kind. He’d be behind Bucky like a shadow, plastered against his back and billowing hot breaths against his neck. 

______ _ _

He’d just whine helplessly, like a _lost puppy,_ and beg _pretty pretty please_ for some sort of relief. Only Steve would chuckle darkly and ignore him. 

______ _ _

“Yeah, that’s right, baby. You know why you’re all gagged up, honey?” 

______ _ _

Bucky would _sob_ in response, shaking his head, tears running down his ruddy cheeks. 

______ _ _

He’d try rocking back to get some relief on his cock, but he couldn’t move an inch edgeways if he tried. 

______ _ _

“That’s what happens when you keep running your mouth.” 

______ _ _

_“I’m sorry!”_ he’d try to cry, but the gag would make it sound a bit more like, _“’Msrrh!”_

______ _ _

“Yeah, I know you are, honey,” he’d say sweetly, “but I need to teach bad boys a lesson, don’t I?” Steve’d say, still keeping up his punishing pace inside of him. 

______ _ _

Bucky would nod his head _Yes, yes yes!_ because he needs to learn his lesson. He’s right. Steve knows best. _Steve will give him what he needs._

______ _ _

Bucky comes like a shot all over his hand, splattering his come along the shower stall and along the floor. 

______ _ _

He strokes himself through his orgasm— it strikes him like a freight train, the sheer force of it almost knocking him right off his feet. 

______ _ _

After turning off the water, he steps out and towels himself off; a guilty flush creeps its way from his cheeks to his chest. 

______ _ _

He won’t let himself feel bad for jerking off about his best friend, _right?_

______ _ _

Whatever’s going on between him and Steve is tentative, still— he doesn’t want to be the one to shit where he eats. 

______ _ _

If he wants to do something with Steve, he needs to make sure that Steve even _feels_ that way about him _first._

______ _ _

Because as brave as Steven G. Rogers is, he’s not brave enough to flirt. By any means. 

______ _ _

He’s witnessed it first hand for years at the dance hall, seeing Steve stumble around girls like he’s got two left feet and two left tongues. 

______ _ _

He’s gotta pull out the big guns if he really wants to get Steve. 

____———_ _ _ _

He didn’t mean to look. 

______ _ _

Honest to god, he didn’t. 

______ _ _

His feet just kind of… took him over to where Bucky left his brand-new tablet, unlocked it, opened his browser, and looked through his history. 

______ _ _

Really, it was all one big accident. _Swear on a bible._

______ _ _

Bucky’s gone for his therapy appointment with the SHIELD therapists, so he should be gone until an hour or so later. 

______ _ _

His browser history proves to be something… _very interesting._

______ _ _

And very exciting for Steve’s dick, apparently. 

______ _ _

Bucky’d found some porn sites and bookmarked a few videos, and Steve makes the mistake of watching them. 

______ _ _

They all have a similar theme; they all feature a big, burly top with light hair and a small twink with dark hair. 

______ _ _

They all feature the top completely _dominating_ the twink, hogtied up, tears clumping up his too-pretty lashes and running down his cheeks. 

______ _ _

The bottom would be taken roughly from behind, fast and careless, and his hole would be fucked in and out brutally, leaving him a boneless whining mess. 

______ _ _

And god _damn,_ does Steve’s dick _hurt_ right now, he’s so fucking turned on by what he’s watching. 

______ _ _

He knows he shouldn’t be snooping on Buck like this— it’s rude and violating the privacy that Bucky is entitled to. 

______ _ _

But his subconscious got the best of him, luring him in, encouraging him to pick up his tablet to look through his searches. It’s like the little devil on his shoulder grew a thousand sizes and took over his body. 

______ _ _

He’ll flagellate himself on a whipping post for that later— _he’s got better things to look at right now._

______ _ _

He looks closer at Bucky’s bookmarked tabs; these must be pages he visits often, if they’re bookmarked. 

______ _ _

The bookmarked videos are titled with cheesy things like _Big Blond Bear Destroys Twink’s Hole,_ or _Pretty Boy Gagged and Bound by His Dom._

______ _ _

He taps on a video that pops up— the thumbnail of a brunette twink kneeling between the legs of someone much larger. 

______ _ _

The video starts playing immediately, soft ambient music chiming and it starts off immediately. The smaller boy is knelt between the other man’s, and his head is lying in his lap. 

______ _ _

He’s trussed up and bound, intricate knots holding his legs together at the ankles and connected at his delicate wrists— forcing him into a kneeling position. 

______ _ _

The Dom has his cock out and is guiding it gently to the sub’s open mouth, tapping his parted lips with it like he’s giving him a nice meal for him to enjoy. 

______ _ _

Steve involuntarily groans at the sight, going against his better judgement to pull his dick out of his sweats and give it a few experimental tugs. 

______ _ _

The sub moans around his Dom’s dick like it’s some special treat for him, and just lets it sit there in his mouth. He doesn’t suck or tongue at it, just speculating and enjoying it. 

______ _ _

_“There’s a good boy,”_ the Dom says, patting his head appreciatively as he spreads his legs further, settling down into his seat. 

______ _ _

The sub positively _melts_ at the attention, glassy-eyed, going as docile as a kitten around his cock, and suckles lightly. 

______ _ _

“Ah-ah-ah,” the Dom admonishes, roughly fisting a hand through his short locks, “Just take it, baby. Just keep me warm, honey, that’s all you gotta do.” 

______ _ _

Steve’s dick gives a tremendous twitch as the sub nods and sits there, tears leaking from his eyes as he sits there, pretty lips wrapped around his Dom’s cock. 

______ _ _

He starts jerking himself off in earnest, his heavy breathing coming out louder than the soft music playing in the background. 

______ _ _

A few minutes pass of the sub gently holding his Dom’s cock in his mouth before he finally grips the boy’s hair and starts fucking his mouth lazily, grunting with each thrust. 

______ _ _

Steve strokes his cock in time with his lazy thrusts, imagining that _he’s the one_ fucking his sub’s pretty mouth. 

______ _ _

He breathes shakily, legs twitching with each tug and warmth grows in his belly. 

______ _ _

And the sub just _takes it,_ takes what he’s given so _beautifully,_ like he was born for it. 

______ _ _

He suddenly clicks with him that this is _Bucky’s_ porn that he’s currently jacking it to, and so he pictures Bucky getting himself off to this too. 

______ _ _

_Does he picture himself as the top? Or the bottom?_ A small voice in the back of his head queries. 

______ _ _

Steve fucks his hand harder and quicker, hoping to _whatever God is out there_ that Bucky pictures himself as the sub. 

______ _ _

Because he’s _definitely got a preference._

______ _ _

The Dom is now sloppily fucking the sub’s face, drool slipping from his plush lips and dripping all onto his cock and down his neck. 

______ _ _

The top seizes at the same time Steve does, chasing their orgasms together. 

______ _ _

Steve’s legs stiffen as he shakes through his orgasm, coming _buckets_ into his hand and all over his sweats. 

______ _ _

As beautiful as ever, the sub takes it in stride, swallowing down every drop greedily like he were a dying man in the desert stumbling upon an oasis. 

______ _ _

The Dom smiles back down at the boy below him, pride glittering in his eyes as he strokes a hand through his ruffled locks. 

______ _ _

Finally pulling off from his soft cock, the sub smiles and says, _“Thank you,”_ before laying his head back down against his Dom’s thigh and making himself right at home there. 

______ _ _

Steve breathes out a long huff, relishing in that post-orgasm glow, muscles all relaxed and lank. 

______ _ _

He closes out the tabs like he was _never there,_ and clicks the power button on the tablet and tucks it back from whence it came. 

______ _ _

So— Bucky’s into that. 

______ _ _

Hm. 

______ _ _

He shrugs and gets himself cleaned up, changing out of his soiled pants and putting on a fresh pair. 

______ _ _

A gnawing feeling tries to claw its way out of his chest— there’s no way he can look Bucky in the eye now. No way. 

______ _ _

He’d rather fling himself into a pit of flames before he’d admit to Bucky that he’s snooped on his web history. 

______ _ _

Nonetheless, _jerked off to it._

______ _ _

He checks the clock on the mantle and sees that Bucky’s due back in less than thirty minutes, so he decides to get supper ready. 

______ _ _

Hopefully he can get through dinner without making an ass out of himself. 

______ _ _

_Hopefully._

_____ _ _ _

_____ _ _ _

____————_ _ _ _

They get through dinner without a hitch, and Steve mentally fist bumps himself for that small accomplishment. 

______ _ _

Steve and Bucky retreat to their usual spot on the couch, only there’s an awkward charged tension between them. 

______ _ _

Bucky looks like he wants to say something, turning to look at Steve with an expression he doesn’t recognize, and immediately looking away when he’s been caught. 

______ _ _

Still, they cuddle on the couch like usual, Bucky laid out on top of him like a human weighted blanket and snoozing with Star Trek playing. 

______ _ _

They follow their nightly routines like usual— Steve and Bucky brush their teeth and wash their faces at the two sinks together. 

______ _ _

There’s an odd, jilted aura between them, and it seems like neither one wants to address the elephant in the room, it seems. 

______ _ _

Bucky checks the locks a few more times than necessary and scours the apartment for bugs. 

______ _ _

After deeming the house secure, Bucky slips into bed beside Steve and tucks himself against his chest, no big deal, apparently. 

______ _ _

Steve breathes an internal breath of relief that he hasn’t been bagged, and holds onto Bucky extra tight as they fall asleep together. 

____———-——_ _ _ _

There is something hard poking _right up into his asscrack._

______ _ _

Bucky doesn’t particularly know how he feels about being woken up in this manner. 

______ _ _

He looks around to see that the room is dark and still, a yawning maw ready to clench its teeth and devour him alive. 

______ _ _

The sheets around him are strewn off his body and are lying on the floor, and surprisingly, he doesn’t feel chilly. 

______ _ _

Leaning back in the slightest, he feels the _full fucking length_ of Steven G. Rogers’ dick, _grinding against his ass._ He’s running as hot as a boiler, warming him down to his bones. 

______ _ _

He feels his dick twitch mutinously in his pants against his own will. It’s hardening in interest, growing harder with each mind-numbing thrust. He mentally curses it, and swears under his breath.

______ _ _

Once again, he feels like a damn teenager popping his first woody and going stir crazy. 

______ _ _

Steve plasters himself against his back like a lonely octopus, not breaking his lazy roll against Bucky’s backside. 

______ _ _

“Mmm, _baby,_ oh—” Steve moans lowly from behind as he wraps his arms around his chest and pulls him in tight. 

______ _ _

He should probably wake Steve up and stop him, but he’s sort of... enjoying this. 

______ _ _

“Oh, Bucky, baby, you… mmm.. I—” he exhales like a prayer, voice thick with sleep and jarbled. 

______ _ _

“Steve?” he tries, not moving. 

______ _ _

“Mmm, wanna fuck your mouth. Pretty.” 

______ _ _

_“Steve!”_

______ _ _

He wakes up with a confused _hmmmph?_ and recoils from Bucky like he’s been burnt. 

______ _ _

_“Oh fuck— Bucky, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—”_ he scrambles for purchase, almost falling off the bed in his haste. 

______ _ _

“What was _that?”_ is all Bucky can say, because… what the fuck was that? 

______ _ _

Steve looks like he’s been caught with his hand in the cookie jar. 

______ _ _

“I—uh,” he blushes, “had a dream about you.” 

______ _ _

Bucky’s brain comes to a screeching halt— a multiple car pile-up occurring within. 

______ _ _

“Sure wasn’t a family friendly one, at that,” he ribs. 

______ _ _

“Bucky, I—” 

______ _ _

“You what, Steve?” 

______ _ _

There is a pregnant pause; Steve’s just staring, mouth agape at Bucky like a deer caught in the headlights. 

______ _ _

_“IWentThroughYourBrowserHistory,”_ Steve word-vomits, his sentence coming out like it was yanked out by a string. 

______ _ _

“I know.” 

______ _ _

Steve does a double take. _“You what?!”_

______ _ _

“You think I conveniently left my tablet out in the open, _where you can find it? _I know you, Rogers. You’ve got the biggest nose in New York,” he scoffs, shrugging.__

________ _ _ _ _

“W-what was the purpose of that, then?” he asks, face flushing red. 

________ _ _ _ _

“Steve, I— I have _needs.”_

________ _ _ _ _

“Sure, _Fez_ from _That 70’s Show.”_

________ _ _ _ _

“No, really, you doofus,” he smacks Steve lightly, smiling. 

________ _ _ _ _

“Well, what… do you want from me?” 

________ _ _ _ _

Bucky thinks for a moment. “I-uh, had my first erection, since recovering? The other day,” he says, face white with mortification. 

________ _ _ _ _

Steve looks mildly uncomfortable, but does a _carry on_ gesture with his hands. 

________ _ _ _ _

“And I thought of you. And uh— took care of it.” 

________ _ _ _ _

Steve flushes a sinful red and ducks his eyes. 

________ _ _ _ _

“But I want you, Steve. I do.” 

________ _ _ _ _

“It’s your call, Buck,” he breathes. Those words are familiar. 

________ _ _ _ _

He realizes now that Steve’s been waiting on _him,_ not the other way round. 

________ _ _ _ _

God, he’s such an idiot for not seeing it earlier. Steve’s been lusting after his ass since 1940 and he’s been a big, dumb, old _idiot._

________ _ _ _ _

Bucky just shakes his head, looks at him in the eye and decides to make his move right then and there—the moment that they’ve been inching toward their entire lives, waves crashing and receding, but remaining strong throughout the test of time. 

________ _ _ _ _

Time and time again, with each trial and tribulation, they were brought back together again—as if fate had sewn them together like a spider to its web. 

________ _ _ _ _

Taking both hands, good and bad, he cups Steve’s face and brings their lips together. 

________ _ _ _ _

Steve’s lips are plusher than they’ve got any damn right to be, like soft, plush pillows. 

________ _ _ _ _

He opens his mouth with the kiss, silently inviting Steve to lick between the seam and get a taste— something he’s been longing to do for ages. 

________ _ _ _ _

Steve _dominates_ the kiss, pulling Bucky’s lips between his teeth, and steals the breath right out of his lungs from the force of it. 

________ _ _ _ _

He rubs his tongue against Bucky’s, and it’s better than he ever thought it could be. 

________ _ _ _ _

The taste of Steve is addictive; he just wants to seek out more and more at every little groan he lets slip past his lips. 

________ _ _ _ _

“Tell me, what’d you think about? When you jerked off?” he breathes lowly, words muffled with the ongoing kiss. 

________ _ _ _ _

Bucky breaks free for a moment. “You’d handcuffed me to the bed and gagged me, and just fucked into me so rough, and— _ngh,”_ Steve interrupts him to flip him on his back and lean over him. 

________ _ _ _ _

“Yeah? And what else?” he breathes, sucking kisses along the lines of his throat and down his chest. 

________ _ _ _ _

“Y-you’d kept a hand at the back of my neck, pushing me down into the mattress— and I’d beg and _cry_ and you’d just ignore me,” he moans, bringing his metal hand to fist a clump of Steve’s hair and keep him in place. 

________ _ _ _ _

“Said you needed to teach me a lesson— that _this is what happens if I keep running my mouth.”_

________ _ _ _ _

Steve almost growls, burying his face further into Bucky’s neck and plastering his body with his own. 

________ _ _ _ _

“And I’d just sit there and _take it,_ because you’re just— giving me something I need.” 

________ _ _ _ _

Steve lifts his head up from its place at the crook of Bucky’s neck and smiles darkly, pupils blown wide. 

________ _ _ _ _

“Of course, baby, I’d give you anything you needed,” he praises, rubbing a hand down his metal arm. 

________ _ _ _ _

“How ’bout we take it slow, and see where things go from here, huh?” Steve gives his crinkly smile, looking at him from under his eyelashes. 

________ _ _ _ _

“Yeah, let’s take it slow,” he repeats, grinning up at Steve and capturing his lips with his own. 

________ _ _ _ _

“If it makes you feel any better, I watched the video of the sub tied up and kneeling while warming his Dom’s dick,” Steve blurts. 

________ _ _ _ _

“Yuussss. That’s my favorite one.” 

________ _ _ _ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> what do you think is gonna happen next ????!  
> talk kinky to me in the comments! let me know what you're thinking!


	3. like it really rough guy (part 1)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve gets called out on a mission unexpectedly.  
> Bucky's left home alone for the first time and misses Steve. (and Steve misses him.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OKAAAAY. So. I did say this was going to be a story told in three parts. That is *technically* a lie, as you can see that the chapter count has changed. But, my 3rd chapter ended up to be over 10K and I didn't wanna load that all into one chapter.  
> So, I just broke chapter 3 into two parts. Sorry for the confusion!

Bucky wakes up to find the bed empty, the sheets next to him cold and neatly made on one side— military corners and all. 

He figures that Steve would be out for his early morning run, but he’d be back by now. 

Also, Steve never makes his side of the bed before a run. He’d always come back to press up against the line of Bucky’s back and he’d bat him off because  _ gross, Steve, your sweat is dripping on me, you mook.  _

Until he gets his morning coffee in his system, his brain is offline. He’s too tired to knock his two brain cells together right now. 

So, he skirts out into the kitchen, but is met with the sight of Steve seated at the table, slipping on his uniform boots. 

“Where’re you goin’?” he asks, voice sleep muffled, and rubs at his eyes. 

“Got called out on a mission last minute,” he grumbles, tying his laces. “I’m sorry, Buck.” He stands up to his full height. 

Bucky stands there, motionless and unblinking. His heart jumps inside his chest. He can’t be alone— not now. 

He’s gotten so used to having Steve sleeping beside him every night. Having him next to him reminds him that he’s a human. 

He tends to forget that sometimes. 

The apologetic puppy-dog-eyed look Steve’s giving him contrasts greatly with his suit, and the dissonance is jarring. 

“How long are you gonna be gone?” His voice comes out more level than he thought it might. 

“I’m not sure, but it’s going to be a long one.” He rounds over the table to wrap Bucky in a warm bear hug, but the rough texture and hard shell of his suit isn’t exactly comforting. 

He relaxes into it though, buries his face into Steve’s neck and breathes in his shampoo and cologne smell. 

Just the scent of him sets off some sort of Pavlovian response— instantly he’s melting into his embrace. It’s a smell he’s come to associate with safety. Steve will always protect him, and that fact is distressing. He shouldn’t let his guard down, but it feels so fucking good to just _ let go _ . 

It hits him now, just how much he needs Steve. He’d be lost without him; he’s built Bucky from the ground up and he’s terrified that Steve’s hard work is gonna come crashing down sooner or later. 

He needs to be told what to do, when to do it, and just exactly how. It’s something that’s been ingrained in him since the beginning— as a soldier in 1941, as the Asset, and now. 

Only now with Steve, it takes on a whole new meaning. It’s got more weight now. Steve’s the only one he’d willingly hand over the wheel to, and the thought of doing so makes him weak in the knees. 

“I’ve got this for you, though, in the meantime,” he says, handing Bucky a small black device. “It’s a comms device— just press this button here and you can talk to me, anytime at all.” 

Bucky holds it in his hand like it’s a delicate thing. He turns it over a few times, inspects it carefully just to be safe. 

He knows better than to ask Steve where he’s being carted off to for his mission; Steve himself probably hasn’t been told yet. Even so, it’s probably classified to the gills and Steve couldn’t tell him anyway. 

“I’ll be checking in as much as I can, Buck, okay? If you need anything, don’t hesitate.” 

Bucky nods and sucks in a shaky breath. 

“I love you, you know that?” Steve whispers, hand cupping Bucky’s jaw to look him in the eye. He doesn’t particularly want to, but he does anyway. He cracks a fond smile and Bucky can’t help but reciprocate. 

“I love you too,” he whispers back, because he knows that if he raised his voice in the slightest it’d be nothing more than a wilted croak. 

“I have to go now, but I’ll be back before you know it. Cross my heart.” 

“Pinky swear?” Bucky asks, small. Steve gives a hearty laugh, nose scrunched and eyes crinkled, and outstretches his little-finger in response. 

_ “Pinky swear.”  _

Bucky’s heart lurches dangerously inside of his chest as Steve reaches for his duffle and shield case. He sort of feels like a housewife sending her husband off for a business trip— but he doesn’t care to linger on that thought for too long. 

“I left you a list… on the counter. Of things— things I want you to do around the house while I’m away,” he says oddly, like a question. 

Bucky wrinkles his nose. “I want to make sure you’re not wallowing around like some  _ mope _ , Buck,” he warns, but there’s no real heat behind it. 

His eyes are laser focused and dark as he pulls Bucky against him. He goes easily, and Steve groans at how pliant he is all for him. 

“If you’re a good boy, then you’ll get a reward. Sound good, baby?” he whispers in Bucky’s ear, low, breath hot against his neck. 

Big, warm hands roam the planes of his back and travel down to the swell of his ass; they take both cheeks into his hand and squeeze. His dick stirs in his sweats at the promise behind it and he stutters a breath. 

So, it’s like _ that. _

Bucky completes the household chores and whatnot and Steve comes home to reward him. 

Well, he can’t exactly say he’s mad at that. 

He gives Steve a curt nod in understanding and he pulls away from Steve’s lingering embrace. 

Finally about to leave, Steve reins him in for a chaste peck on the cheek before slipping into the elevator. Bucky watches as the doors shut behind him, the apartment feeling now empty. 

He shuffles aimlessly to the kitchen and decides to get back to brewing coffee— as dark and strong as he can get it. 

The list taunts him from where it sits on the table, Steve’s chicken-scratch illegible from the distance. 

He doesn’t want to look. Not yet. 

He should probably eat something. He’s still working on recognizing his body’s cues— when he’s hungry, or if he’s tired. 

He decides he’ll make an omelet and cooks it up, only to end up eating it out of the pan at the kitchen island like some kind of degenerate. 

He just chews and swallows methodically, not even tasting it. When Steve’s away it’s just not the same. He just scarfs it down because he knows he needs the sustenance. 

He’s no longer like how Hydra created him to be: able to go days without eating, and consuming food just for the nutrients, not the enjoyment. 

Steve’s spoiled him too much for that now; he’s constantly been mother-henning him, making sure he’s eating enough, taking care of himself. However, the feeling he’s got right about now bears an awful semblance to days long ago. 

Bucky tosses the empty skillet into the sink and takes a big last swig from his coffee before it meets a similar fate. 

Ignoring the note, he leaves the kitchen to slip back into bed and he tears apart Steve’s neatly-made side of the bed. 

Having it neatly made and tucked in only serves as a reminder of Steve’s absence, and keeping it that way just smarts the wound. 

Maybe he could imagine that Steve’s going to come back from his run soon. 

And he’s gonna curl  _ right up beside Bucky _ , tired muscles lank, and wanting nothing but to touch  _ every inch _ of Bucky he could reach, hands wandering and greedy. 

He falls asleep clutching Steve’s pillow to his chest. 

————— 

The rest of the day passes slowly like treacle, slow and annoying as ever. 

His early morning nap made no dent in his tiredness, despite waking up after noon. 

There’s a hole in his chest and it feels as gaping and yearning as ever. He knows that just moping around the house isn’t going to do him any favors, though. 

Maybe Steve had the right idea— giving him some structure and tasks to complete could prevent him from slipping again. 

Watching TV all day, aimlessly channel surfing, won’t make him feel any less sorry for himself. He gets up from the couch and switches the TV off. 

His feet take him to where the note sits, unperturbed. 

This can be good. He can be good. 

_ He can be good for Steve _ . 

Whatever Steve wants,  _ he wants _ . 

He picks up the paper and reads over Steve’s blocky penmanship. 

**_Things to do:_ **

_ Make the bed. C’mon, Buck, were you raised in a barn?  _

_ Clean the kitchen and do the dishes. If you leave the dishes stacked in the sink again, so help me  _ _ God. _ __

Bucky eyes the stockpile of dishes littering the sink guiltily, caught red-handed. 

Damn. He’s become too predictable. 

_ Make sure the laundry is done and folded neatly— and oh, iron my dress shirts. I’ve been meaning to do that.  _

_ Hang them in the closet too, ~~while you’re at it~~ please, honey.  _

_ Dust the entire house; it’d better be spotless by the time I get back.  _

_ If I think of anything else I’ll ring to let you know.  _

_ Love you. —Steve  _

Bucky’s cock twitches in his sweats and he just rereads the list over and over, engraves it in his brain. He loves Steve like this, bold and brazen and knowing exactly what he wants. When Steve’s feeling his oats, confident and cock-sure, that’s what makes Bucky fall apart like brown sugar. 

He drives the heel of his palm against his bulge for some slight relief and starts off with the next task. He pads into the kitchen and jams the plates into the dishwasher, and fishes the spray bottle from under the sink. 

He sets to wipe down the kitchen counters, and he imagines Steve being beside him. 

Wrapping himself against Bucky, warm and tempting. Breathing hot down his neck and running his hands down his chest and whispering in his ear. 

He imagines Steve would say something along the lines of  _ you make such a pretty wife _ , or looking Bucky up and down,  _ saying aww, all this for me? Ain’t I lucky to have such a good little wife as you, pretty?  _

Bucky grips the formica counter for dear life and almost cracks it with the left hand. 

He shouldn’t want this.  _ No. _

_ Why does he want this?  _

Of all things, why is  _ this  _ the thing that gets him hot? He just wants to crawl up to Steve, hands and knees and just submit, let go of his troubles like a wind carrying a leaf. 

If anyone else tried calling him those names, or pulling lines like that as if he’s some sort of broad, they’d be nursing a ripe shiner. 

It’s only Steve that he’d allow behind the curtain. 

Steve wants him to want things. At least he thinks. He likes it when he asks for stuff. There’s no way he’d get mad if Bucky asked him to do… this stuff. 

At least, the list he gave Bucky says as much. He wouldn’t care— he’d probably  _ love it. _ He’d gone and bought all these crazy toys and things he doesn’t even know the name of to use in the bedroom. 

Bucky breathes a long-held breath of relief and goes back to wiping down. 

The clock on the stove reads twenty-three-hundred, so he decides it would be for the best if he heads off to bed now. 

————— 

He can’t sleep. The bed is too cold and Steve’s familiar weight on the bed is too palpable. Steve’s snoring isn’t there to lull him to sleep like his own little white noise machine. 

God. He’s fallen in love with a  _ snorer. _

The comms device sits on the table, unbothered with and lonely. Steve hadn’t used it yet to contact him, and he can’t help but to think of the worst. 

He grabs it in the darkness, hand scrabbling across hardwood before his fingers meet it. 

He presses the button. 

Steve hadn’t really explained it other than a _ “press that button here!”  _ like he’s some sort of half-wit, so he notices now that the button calls Steve— lets him know that someone’s on the other line. 

“Hey, Buck,” responds Steve, voice crackly and tinny from the speaker. 

He sounds out of breath and tired. 

“Hi. I miss you,” breathes Bucky, fragile. No point in mincing words. 

“I miss you too. I don’t really have time to talk right now— but I can—  _ I’ll call you later?”  _

“Yeah.” He tries not to sound too crestfallen, but his voice betrays him anyway. 

“Love you,” says Steve, resigned. 

Bucky cuts the connection before he could say something stupid or starts crying, and sinks into the bed. 

He flips over and lies prone on the sheets and lets out a muffled breath into the pillow. 

_ Is Steve okay?  _

_ Is he eating enough?  _

_ Getting enough sleep? Is he hurt?  _

Bucky groans and shoves a pillow over his head, thinking that it’d somehow shield him from his intrusive thoughts but it’s a pointless effort. 

He’s so fucking lonely it hurts and there’s no big blond idiot at his six. 

It’s also not helpful that he’s horny as all get out and just needs to be fucked into the mattress in order to sleep. He’s a simple man, what can he say. 

He strokes himself lazily, bringing himself to hardness slowly, not rushing things at all. 

Unwarranted tears leak from his eyes and  _ what the fuck. Why am I fucking crying right now,  _ he asks himself, because he’s _ not _ supposed to cry right now. 

Steve’s alive and breathing and that should be assurance enough— but for some reason his mind betrays him anyway. 

Bucky reaches into the side table near the bed and reaches into the second drawer— because  _ who keeps their toys in the first drawer, ugh _ — and grabs the biggest toy he’s got. 

It’s long and thick, thicker than Steve, _ and that says a lot, _ with a wide bulb at the end. It curves deliciously, reaching just the right spot inside of him that makes him scream. It’s nearly as big as his forearm and much thicker than it. 

It’s his favorite one for a reason and it’s just the one he needs right now. He needs to come so hard he forgets his own name, let alone worry more about Steve. 

He slicks the toy up as he positions himself knees and elbows on the bed. He reaches behind himself to rub a slick finger around his hole, testing, and slides one in. 

His eyebrows scrunch up as he lets out a long broken moan at the intrusion, over-sensitive and already wanting more. 

A second finger slips in beside the first, and he keens at the stretch, burning just right. He scissors his fingers a bit, opening himself up and his face flushes hot and beet red. 

Tentatively rocking back on his fingers, he moans like a whore, seeking more and more stimulation on his prostate with each shaky movement. 

After working his way up to four fingers, he decides that it should be sufficient, and if it’s not then oh well, he likes it when it burns anyway. 

He grabs the toy and puts it behind himself and lines it up with his hole and sinks down— it burns,  _ it burns so bad, but it’s so fucking good _ — he goes slow and enjoys the slide. 

His face slacks with bliss, eyes pointed aimlessly at the ceiling, fucked out and unfocused. 

If Steve were here, he’d tell him just how much of a slut he looked like, all spread open and blissed out. Open and greedy. 

He would call him a whore and just smirk darkly, because he knows that Bucky knows it’s true. 

His mouth hangs open with the slow slide down the fake cock, breath punched out of his lungs. 

He finally reaches the hilt and it fills him perfectly, like he was built to take it. 

His hole wraps around it  _ so perfectly, _ the length so satisfying— it feels like it’s scratching an internal itch as he sinks. 

Soft little  _ uh-uh-uhs  _ fill the air, panting with each long press, filling him up just right, pressing on every sensitive spot inside. 

The bulb at the end is bigger than his fist, hole stretched  _ obscenely _ , throbbing and taut around the girth of it. 

Taking his hand, he presses against his lower stomach, and feels the toy inside and  _ wails _ . 

It’s  _ so big _ ,  _ it’s so fucking big _ , the outline of the long dildo bulging underneath his belly button, thick and pressing. 

Bucky begins to rock back and forth, hands and knees, back onto the toy, tears dripping down his cheeks despite best efforts. 

He’s gonna  _ split in two _ — perfectly cleaved in half from the sheer size of the dildo. 

He rests on his haunches as he reaches behind himself and spreads his cheeks wide. He rubs a thick digit around his hole, probing at the obscenely stretched ring of muscle. 

His entire body feels like it’s on fire— not like the soft burn he gets as an orgasm builds, but like a live wire burning within him, burning bright and red-hot. 

He groans at the delicious press against his prostate, chases the sensation as he fucks himself down on the fake cock in earnest. 

Weak, small moans try to escape, but the wind in his lungs is punched out from the power of each bounce on the thick dildo. 

He spreads his cheeks further and another finger slides in alongside the thick bulb. 

_ God, god, oh my god, _ his vision grays out, and he sobs from the burn of that impossible stretch, hot tears prickling at the corner of his eyes. 

No fist could  _ ever _ stretch him like this— he loves this, feeling  _ stuffed full _ , and happy and sated. Like a bitch in heat he whines uncontrollably, unable to stop himself from fucking back furiously, dripping with sweat. 

One hand reaches over to fist his cock, tight gripped and fast. Through bleary eyes he sees that it’s a dark, bruise-purple. Shock floods his system— his ability to stave off orgasm is working overtime. 

With the one finger in his hole, and one hand fisting his cock, he rocks back and forth— though most of the time is spent grinding deliriously on the thick bulb of the dildo. 

His thighs burn with the strain, he bounces desperately on the plastic cock, panting and flushed and so so close to getting relief. 

His heart ticks out of his chest, vision darkens out and he shakes, orgasm blowing him clean off of his feet. He strokes himself as he comes, painting the sheets with his release. 

He fucks his fist and rocks back as he comes, and  _ comes, _ crying out with each blurt of come splattering on the sheets. 

He runs himself dry, wringing his cock out for every last drop, making a mess of the sheets and himself. All over the pillowcase and comforter, paints his chest, and even lands on  _ his lip _ . 

The slick toy slips out as he relaxes and he bites back a whimper as his hole is left throbbing and gaping. 

He melts into the mattress, legs jellified and ears ringing. He couldn’t be bothered one bit about the sticky mess he’s on top of. 

At least he’s got an excuse now to wash the sheets. 

He lays on the soft bedding until his legs decide they want to work and he tosses the offending bedclothes into the hamper. He’ll wash that tomorrow. 

Unbothered with redressing it, he flops onto the bare mattress and attempts to sleep. 

It’s awful hard to sleep when a once-warm-bed becomes frigid. 

————— 

The mission had been pretty much light-work, just some reconnaissance and retrieval. 

Steve had been paired off with Natasha to break into an abandoned ex-Hydra facility to get some files and bring them back to HQ. 

What he hadn’t expected though, is that that abandoned facility was actually pretty heavily defended. 

He’d been in the middle of disarming some Hydra goon when his communicator chimed, and Bucky was on the other line. 

God, he sounded like such an asshole, but he would understand,  _ right? _ He’s on a mission, and it’s difficult to find time in between to talk,  _ surely _ he’s gotta understand. 

There were two choices he could have taken: Talk to Bucky and get decapitated with this asshole’s axe—  _ who the hell even uses an axe, who are you, Paul Bunyan?  _

Or, he could risk coming off like an asshole, ending up with a mildly-pissed-off boyfriend, and coming out alive. 

Really, the choice was easy to make. Doesn’t mean that it’s without its consequences, though. 

The fight left him with a bullet graze on his right shoulder and a few fractured ribs, but he’s still kicking, so he figures that’s a win. 

It’s been two days and he’s gotta call Bucky now. He needs to let him know that everything’s okay and he’s not dead yet. 

God, he’s got a bullet wound and cracked ribs and he’s worrying about whether Bucky’s  _ mad or not?  _

Steve presses the button on the comms and waits for a reply; it’s almost instantaneous. 

“Hey,” greets Bucky. He sounds tired. 

_ Is he taking care of himself?  _

_ Is he doing what he instructed on the list?  _

_ Has he had any nightmares while he’s been gone?  _

He’d just given the list to Bucky as an outlet, giving him something to do while Steve’s away. He figured that if he gave Bucky a sort of goal to work towards, it would be beneficial. He’s been meaning to play around with the idea of that sort of one-hundred-percent-submission, but he doesn’t want to overwhelm Bucky so soon.

Steve shakes his head, dismissing his thoughts like an etch-a-sketch and replies to Bucky. 

“Hey. I’ve got a little down-time,” he says, but it’s better that he doesn’t tell Bucky the reason for that. “How are you?” 

“Lonely,” he puts it simply, breath huffing against the mic. 

“I know. Me too. I’m real sorry I left you hanging there last night, Buck.” 

“I understand.” 

Steve exhales in relief. He glances at his laptop and thinks. 

“Do you have your laptop near you?” Steve asks. 

“Yeah, why?” 

“I was thinking, maybe we could video chat?” 

“Y-yeah, I mean, yeah of course,” Bucky says, and he sounds so relieved. It’s so good to hear right now, hearing that he’s okay and doing well. 

Steve boots his computer up, loads Skype and dials Bucky. 

It takes a second to call, what with his shitty internet in a classified location off the coast of [redacted.] 

He’s currently in medical sitting on a hospital bed, connected to an IV, and thankfully it’s out of frame for the most part. 

A smile creeps it’s way into his face immediately, and Bucky returns it and his heart leaps in his chest seeing just how happy Bucky looks to see him. 

The maudlin moment is ruined when Bucky spots the bandaging on his shoulder. 

Fuck. He’d meant to cover that up. 

“What the fuck, Steve?! Are you okay?” Bucky cries, anger and concern flooding his features. 

“Buck, I’m fine,” he dismisses, “It’s just a scratch. Really.” 

“I call bullshit, Steven.” 

Steve laughs. “I just got grazed and cracked a few ribs. I’m already on the mend, honey.” 

He pretends to miss the way Bucky’s eyes darken at the endearment, and carries on. 

“How’ve things been?” What he really means is  _ have you been making good use of the toys I’ve left you?  _

“Good? I’ve been productive…” Bucky understands and his face flushes. “I really missed you.” 

“Yeah?” Bucky’s eyes are hooded and dark, his coquettish tone alone makes his dick twitch. 

“I used my favorite one that night. You weren’t there.” 

Oh.  _ His favorite one _ . 

That’s the one that’s about as long and as thick as a  _ damn tree trunk. _

Steve groans and reaches inside his waistband to lazily stroke himself, just bringing himself to cusp of full hardness. 

“Right after I called you—I thought about doing it while you were on the line,” Bucky breathes, hand disappearing from frame, presumably stroking himself too. 

“Yeah?” Steve pants, face-palming internally at the missed opportunity. 

“Shame you were busy though,” he says, faux disappointed. 

“I’m here now,” says Steve, and Bucky’s eyes darken further, leaving just a ring of grey around a pool of black. 

“Get the vibe from the bottom drawer and let me see you, baby. Get yourself ready for me.” 

Bucky complies, setting the laptop at the end of the bed, giving Steve a good view. He scrabbles to get the thick black vibrator from the drawer and pauses before slicking it up. 

He divests himself of his clothes and tosses them aside in a messy heap. Steve makes a mental note to correct behavior that later. 

“Get the ball gag too— might as well. I don’t want to hear you running your mouth.” 

“How do you want me?” Bucky says breathlessly, eager-eyed and harried. 

“Slow your roll, sweetheart. There’s no rush. None at all, baby,” he purrs, and Bucky tenses as thought passes his face, but soon relaxes. 

Gag firmly placed between his teeth, Bucky buckles the straps tight and closes his eyes in bliss. 

Pride swells in his chest giving Bucky this feeling, raptured and sent off to space with just some light petting and softly crooned words. 

“Hands and knees, your pretty little ass facing the camera.  _ Got that? _ We’re gonna play a little game here,” he says, grin in his voice. 

Bucky grows visibly nervous, but Steve knows that deep down he’s more than interested. 

“I want you to fuck yourself on it, and as soon as you feel like you’re about to come, you stop. When I say to continue, you do so. Understood?” 

Bucky wails in frustration, muffled and low. His hand flies to his cock, fisting and stroking. 

“And, hands off that pretty little clit, baby,” he interjects, “I don’t want you rubbing on it like that,” he drawls. Bucky keens; a string of muffled moans catch in his throat. 

“You’ll come when I say, or you’ll be getting a punishment when I get home,” he says lowly, threat in his tone and Bucky wails. 

“You will come before I do, and if you don’t, you don’t get to at all.” 

Bucky acquiesces and nods furiously, turning around to put himself on display. He slicks his fingers up and presses inside his pink little hole, moaning for it like a whore. 

“So good, Buck,” he breathes, stroking himself leisurely. 

Bucky works himself up to three fingers before sliding the vibrator home, turned on to the lowest setting. He lets out a stuttering breath, legs shaking from the sensitivity. 

Steve’s eyes are trained to his hole the entire time, fluttering and flushed around the thick vibrator as it slides in. 

He’s so damn pretty, flushed red like a virgin, splayed out and open. Drool streams steadily from the gag, making him look even more fucked out and desperate. 

“You look so pretty, baby,” Steve moans, stroking faster, “You do this for anybody, huh? Just bend over and show yourself off to the nearest fella?” 

The words get him hot too, imagining Bucky pleading for it constantly, needing to get railed on the hour,  _ every hour. _ Bucky screams and rocks back onto the vibrator and turns up the speed, moans coming out short and punchy. 

He’d keep Bucky constantly fucked and sated, indulging him each and every time he wanted it. He’d just  _ tsk-tsk-tsk _ , playing the part of the  _ Mean Dom  _ role, but really he’d spoil Bucky any chance he got. 

And the way Bucky’s eyes roll in his head? It’s like  _ art _ .  _ So gorgeous, _ chest pinked up from exertion, hole dribbling with slick. 

“I’d keep you like this all the time if I could, baby, I really would. Such a pretty sight, wish I could put it to pen and paper,” he babbles, but it’s true. He’ll have to do that one of these days. 

Steve’s cock throbs, Bucky looks so good. If he were there he’d eat him out like a champ, tongue-fucking him until he squeals. 

“So good, baby, so good—  _ fuck _ ,” a whoosh of breath escapes him, “I wish I could work you open with just my tongue, make you drip  _ all down your thighs, _ ” he drawls. 

Bucky sobs and his body seizes, pulling out the vibrator suddenly before he comes. He sits on his hands and knees for a moment to catch his breath and come down. 

“ _ Fuck _ — Such a good boy, Buck,  _ so good, _ you’re so  _ perfect _ —” a litany of praises fall from his mouth, babbling mindlessly, voice unrecognizable to his own ears. 

“Go ahead, baby, fuck yourself on it, show me how good you can be,” huffs Steve, fisting his cock, hips twitching up into it. 

Bucky moans his assent and nods furiously. He looks fucked out and beatific, mind blissfully empty except for his desperation. Steve groans as he takes in the sight on the screen, Bucky rocking back on the vibrator in abandon, not a care in the world. 

Steve’s cock twitches, and he pulls on it more, seeing if Bucky really can achieve release before him. Because he’s not gonna last very long. 

Bucky’s panting and moaning lewdly, dripping with sweat and slick, crying with each drag of the vibrator. 

“S’good, Buck,  _ so good _ — _ ngh, _ miss you, miss holding you—  _ all mine, nobody else’s.  _ Say you’re mine, Buck,  _ please—ugh _ , say it,” he pants furiously, entire body tingling. 

_ “Yoursss,” _ Bucky cries, muffled with the gag. Steve knees turn to jelly with the adrenaline pop, the possessive feeling heady and right. 

“That’s right—  _ uh, yeah, _ you belong to me—  _ love you, Buck _ , love your little hole, so  _ needy, _ ” he sobs, bright shocks of light flash beneath his closed lids, so so close to relief. 

Bucky comes suddenly with a hoarse scream, untouched. He rocks back on the toy, a fresh wave of come erupting with each movement. He sniffles, wiping his eyes and pulls away the loose hairs sweat-glued to his skin so he can face the camera. 

Steve quickly flips his camera over to give Bucky a view of his cock, deep reddish-purple and dribbling profusely with precome. 

He shouts as he seizes, probably overheard by everyone in the medical building, but he couldn’t give any less of a shit right now. 

White static creeps around his periphery and he spills everywhere. His sweats, some on the bedding, and on his shirt. 

Turning the camera to face him, he can see just how truly fucked-out Bucky looks, and see the immense pleasure inundating his features watching Steve come. If he could make Bucky feel this good all the time, they’d never leave the bedroom. 

“Baby,  _ baby, _ I wish I could kiss you right now,” Steve admits, loneliness coloring his words. 

“You can take the gag out now, honey, you did so good, I’m  _ so proud of you _ ,” he babbles, watching as he slips the gag out from his teeth and saliva drips from it. 

Bucky looks so sleepy sweet and pliant like he does every time they’ve done it so far, still it makes his heart swell as big as ever with adoration. 

“I’m sorry I can’t be there with you,” he says, ducking his eyes, regretful. 

“It’s okay. Are you going to be alright? Mission okay?” Bucky asks and he appreciates his concern. He missed that all those years Bucky was gone. 

“Yeah, I’ll be alright. Mission’s almost over. Should be home in a few more days— we’re just wrapping things up now.” 

Bucky lets out a breath. “I miss you.” 

The little admission makes his heart fall in his chest. It’s the first time Bucky’s been alone since the beginning of his recovery and it’s lonely not having him by his side 24/7 like always. 

Steve just nods his head. “I miss you too, baby. It won’t be much longer. I love you.” 

“Love you too,” Bucky says, yawning ostensibly. 

Oh shit. He forgot they were in different time zones. 

“What time is it for you, Buck?” he asks. 

“Three in the morning.” 

Steve blinks. “ _ Wait, _ so you just woke up out of your sleep when I called? I should let you get back— get back to sleep, I—” 

“It’s fine. Wasn’t sleeping anyway. Can’t,” he sighs and Steve really notices the deep circles under his eyes. Steve’s got them too, but it’s an unusual sight on Bucky. He doesn’t like it much. 

“Try to get some rest, Buck. _ Make sure you take your vitamins tomorrow morning _ ,” he reminds, sing-song. 

“Yeah, yeah, whatever, Ma,” he waves a hand and smiles. “G’night, Stevie. Love you.” 

“Love you too.” 

The Skype call ends with a sad sounding little chirp, and he stares at the blank screen. 

His reflection stares back at him mockingly, showing him how much of an idiot he really is. 

Is it normal, having your heart beat this fast in your chest? He can’t breathe— it’s like the feeling he used to get, back when he could get asthma attacks. 

He must be having an asthma attack, but that’s not quite right—  _ is it? _ He brings a shaky hand to rub at his face and his fingers meet wetness. 

_ Oh, _ he’s crying. He hadn’t noticed the tears leaking profusely, still caught up in regaining his breath. 

He trembles against his own volition and he curls his knees up to his chest. He wants to feel small again. Let the world swallow him up whole, never to be seen again, one with the earth. 

Sounds peaceful. 

A nurse rushes into the room, clipboard in hand, expression harried. 

He hadn’t realized that the monitors had been beeping wildly, his heart rate skyrocketing. 

“Commander Rogers? Are you all right?” She asks, not coming closer. 

_ “Yes. Go away.” _ He bites the words out, coming off meaner than he’d like. 

The nurse leaves without a word, clearly terrified from being yelled at by  _ Captain America. _

Well, not anymore. That shield has been long hung up. He’s just Captain— well, now  _ Commander Steve Rogers.  _ Those around him call him Captain as a nod to the nostalgic aspect of it, but it’s  _ long _ since he’s been a Captain.

He’s got a life now. Something to come home to. 

And that thought is enough to bring his panic—  _ oh, so that’s what that was _ — down to a manageable level. 

He’s more than just a shield and a pair of star-spangled tights. 

He’s got Bucky at home waiting for him and that’s enough. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Eeeeep! :)
> 
> Also, I ditched MS word and switched to Google Docs, so hopefully those weird coding issues wont be a problem!


	4. like it really rough guy (part 2)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve comes home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prepare... for feels. :)

It’s a few days after the call that Bucky gets another ring from the comms, chiming loud in the open space of the kitchen. 

He’s starting another load of laundry when he hears it, and his heart rate picks up slightly. 

“What’s up?” he answers, feigning nonchalance. 

“Hey Buck, mission’s over. Just giving you an ETA. Should be back home today, around six in the evening.” 

Steve sounds exhausted, breathing heavily into the mic. He could practically see the bags under his eyes from here. 

His heart pounds and his vision swims, hands barely strong enough to hold the comms to his ear. 

He doesn’t even register Steve calling his name until Steve sounds truly concerned. 

“Okay,” he says simply. 

“Okay. I’ll see you soon.” Steve hangs up and Bucky’s left sitting there, veins thrumming and skin prickling. 

He’s gonna be home around dinner time, so he plans out what he’s going to make. The clock says that it’s about noon, so he staves off getting started for now. 

The contents of the list have been completed, double-checked over and over, and he makes sure that the entire apartment is pristine for Steve’s arrival. 

A hopeful thrill blooms in his chest and climbs up his throat. He hopes Steve will be proud of him. Proud that he’s done so well on his own. 

He wants to be ready for Steve, ready to fall into his arms like a rag doll and just  _ breathe him in, _ reassure him that’s back, whole and safe. 

If Steve asks,  _ no, he hasn’t been sleeping on his side of the bed just so he could smell him, _ thank you very much. 

Surely Steve wouldn’t mind if he just hugged him tight and never let go, it’s what he does to Steve on a daily basis. 

At first, all he wanted was  _ touch, _ being held and cradled close, but the honeymoon phase of recovery closed its curtain and it all became too much. 

He’d sweat, and his heart would mutinously skip a beat of its steady thrum. His clothes and skin became too itchy. 

And Steve,  _ bless him, _ had been nothing short of totally understanding and gracious, and allowed Bucky to slip away to his room when things got too overwhelming. 

Staying true to his word on making Bucky feel comfortable, Steve respected his boundaries until Bucky finally decided he was ready— ready to give that part of himself to Steve. 

Now he’s sure. Certain. 

He wants only to be held by Steve’s confident hands, wrapped in his strong arms and never leave. 

It’s set in stone. He’s ready. 

The washing machine beeps, so he throws the clothes into the dryer and pops in a few of those fabric softener things in for good measure. 

He hops into the shower and cleans himself  _ thoroughly.  _ He needs to be ready for whatever may come upon Steve’s arrival. 

Not bothering to towel off fully, he pads into the bedroom to slick up a plug and work himself open slowly. 

He slides it home and stands, knees turning wobbly at the satisfying press against his sides. 

There’s only one thing he wants: to be railed by Steve until the cows come home. He’d jump Steve at any hour of the day if he could—  _ hell,  _ he’d jump Steve the second he comes home. 

However, he decides to stick with decent— _ not a sexual deviant— _ human behavior and gets to work in the kitchen. 

Since Steve’s coming home from a mission, he decides to make something rich and fulfilling to satisfy him. 

Long hours on the field probably have left him little time to eat a  _ proper _ meal, and the thought of that makes Bucky shudder. 

MRE’s are not fun to eat. At all. 

A sirloin steak— _ center cut,  _ mashed potatoes, and broccoli sound good. It’s rich and thick:  _ perfect.  _

He throws the steaks on the pan and butters them up, adding some black pepper and some sauce. The broccoli is in the pot steaming, and he heats up the potatoes in the oven. 

Once he decides that the steaks are well cooked— a perfect medium rare, and the potatoes are cooked and mashed, he sits on a chair in the kitchen and relaxes. 

The elevator door pings and opens. He sits stock still. 

Suddenly he’s become very aware of the plug in his ass. His dick twitches in his sweats and he drives the heel of his palm against it to will the hardness away. 

“Welcome back, Commander Rogers,” Jarvis greets distantly as Bucky scrambles to his feet, going over to the stove to regain his composure. 

Steve doesn’t say anything in response, only a long sigh as far as he can hear. He hears a clothed  _ thud, _ which Bucky can only assume is his duffle and shield case. 

He hears Steve toe his shoes off by the door. Heavy footsteps land on the hardwood flooring, the boards squeaking with each step. 

He pretends that he’s busy at the range, stirring aimlessly and adding unnecessary little dashes of salt  _ here and there, _ just trying to look like he’s not losing his marbles. 

He’s not too keen on looking like a chicken with its head cut off the second he lays eyes on Steve. 

Before he can take in a breath, Steve’s there. Right behind him, wrapping himself behind Bucky and jamming his nose in Bucky’s neck to breathe him in. 

Arms wrap around his waist _ , so tight— so good. _ He missed this. 

They don’t need to say anything to each other in greeting, there’s no point in it. There’s nothing to be said and that’s all right. 

“Thanks, honey,” Steve says lowly, from behind Bucky like a lonely octopus— plastering himself against every nook and cranny of Bucky’s body. 

“It’s nothin’,” he returns, huffing in amusement as Steve takes his fill, squeezing and kneading at his chest, huge warm hands moving down to his thighs, and finally his ass. 

“You’re a horn-dog, Rogers, y’know that?” he smiles, taking the pan off the range and unsticking Steve from him to grab a plate. 

“Mmm, yep. Some things never change, I guess,” he purrs, kissing delicately at his pulse point. 

Suddenly he’s flipped over, back against the counter, facing Steve. 

Bucky looks Steve over and he looks truly  _ good, _ like a silent predator bringing home the kill. His hair sticks up at odd angles, probably because of that  _ stupid cowl, _ Bucky thinks. 

Steve’s bright blue eyes meet his, but they look so tired. They’re puffy and ringed with purple; he looks like he hasn’t slept in  _ ages.  _

_ Shit.  _ Bucky’s heart squeezes as he looks at Steve, wrung out and desperate. 

His eyes are dark and heavy, his five o’clock shadow on its way to becoming a ten o’clock shadow. 

Tearing his eyes away from Steve’s, he sees that he’s stripped down to just his plain white undershirt and his tactical cargo pants. The shirt is ringed with damp sweat, and he nearly groans at the sight. 

“You have anything to eat?” is what he’s able to manage out, though his voice is still reedy. 

“No, haven’t been able to,” says Steve, voice dry and exhausted. 

He needs to take care of Steve. And that’s  _ final _ . 

Warm hands envelop his lower back, rubbing abstract shapes into the skin like a benediction, and his skin grows warmer with each circle. 

Steve looks like the walking dead and is acting like it; he’s limp and pliant against Bucky. His stomach growls within earshot as he latches onto Bucky, humming contentedly as he nudges Bucky to grab at him more. 

As he makes his way around the kitchen, Steve sticks himself back against his back, drooping and lazily nosing at the nape of his neck. 

His stubble scratches and scritches at the sensitive skin and he shivers, leaning into the point of contact. 

He’s just about finished with dinner, so he plates the steak and potatoes while the broccoli steams. 

Steve sticks a finger into the mashed potatoes on his plate and licks it. Bucky doesn’t even gripe at him about it. He can only assume that the mission had been a long and arduous one with little chance to eat anything other than a protein bar or so. He supposes he’ll let it go this time. 

Bucky plates up the food, enough for two on one plate. 

Steve looks at the plate and back at him in silent question, his thoughts written across his features. He raises an eyebrow and rubs a thumb at Bucky’s wrist. 

“Please?” is all he can say, and Steve understands. 

Steve understands. 

He takes the plate out to the table before he sits himself on the floor between Steve’s powerful thighs. The plate squeals as Steve cuts up the steak into little bites. He knows. 

Placing his cheek against Steve’s inner thigh, he rubs it lightly against the worn material. He can’t see Steve’s face from under the table but he wishes he could. 

A hand reaches underneath the table, outstretching a fork with a piece of meat on the end. 

He takes it between his teeth delicately, not lifting his head off of Steve’s thigh. He sinks into his lap further, allowing Steve to just feed him and murmur little praises he can’t hear. 

With each bite Bucky receives, Steve takes two for himself. He plated up enough for them plus a little extra, so he’s not worried. 

He can’t be worried— not while he’s drifting so slowly, cradled between Steve’s thighs and surrounded by the musky, masculine smell of him. 

Opening his eyes, he sees that Steve’s hard as nails in his tactical pants. He slides his cheek up further and noses at it lightly, and brushes his lips against the zipper. 

Steve groans lightly and his free hand flies to Bucky’s hair, petting and looping his fingers through the long locks. 

Thick fingers thread through the hair against the nape of his neck and he groans, allowing another bite to pass his lips. 

He mouths over the tip of Steve’s cock through the cloth, breathing hot against the material. He desperately wishes that he could see Steve’s expression right now. 

He’s probably got his head back, mouth open in pure  _ bliss, _ pale complexion flushed a bright red. Bucky breathes harshly, and lays his cheek closer to Steve’s groin. 

The plate is scraped clean and Steve relaxes in the chair, need for sleep finally catching up with him on a full belly. 

Taking the initiative to take things further, Bucky lays his cheek against the outline of Steve’s hard cock and moans as he brushes against it. 

“You want it?” Steve asks gruffly, no louder than a whisper. 

“Let me. Please. Can I?” asks Bucky, nosing that the hard line. 

“Alright, baby. Whatever you want,” he purrs, stroking his hair. “C’mon honey, get me out.” 

Bucky reaches a weak hand up to the zipper and Steve bats it away. 

“Only your mouth, sweetheart.” His tone doesn’t leave room for argument. 

He doesn’t question it or fight back. He’s here to do what Steve wants. He’s here to take care of Steve. And if Steve needs to take control over him, boss him around a little? There is no way he can refuse. 

He pulls the zipper down with his teeth, enamel clacking against the metal. He drags the cloth down and sees that Steve’s not wearing anything underneath. 

“You gonna sit there staring at it or what?” he says, big hand cupping his jaw. 

Steve’s not fully hard; he just needs a little coaxing to reach entirety. He plants a light kiss at the tip and relaxes into Steve’s shudder. 

Lapping at it like a kitten, Steve lets out broken little moans with each lick. He licks a stripe down the shaft before sinking down fully, taking him in to the hilt. 

Throat clenching wildly, he settles for a moment to will the tears away and relax his breathing. Steve must sense his apprehension and strokes a loving hand down his neck. 

“Take your time, honey. ‘S all right,” he slurs. He sounds fuck-drunk. 

He finally moves, slow and easy, anchored by Steve’s fist in his hair. With the movements he’s reminded of the plug in his ass. The base rubs against his prostate and he moans, vibrations running through Steve’s cock. 

He groans loudly above Bucky, fist tightening in his hair but pointedly not pulling. 

_ How cute, he’s holding himself back, _ Bucky bemuses, lips quirking up in their seal around Steve. 

“S’good, Buck, so good, always had a mouth on you,” he rasps. 

_ Yeah, you’re one to talk. Biggest damn mouth in Brooklyn.  _

He sucks harder around Steve, bobbing up and down in earnest. He gags around the head slightly, eyes prickling with hot tears. 

“I wanna see you, Buck.” 

It’s not a question. 

Steve pulls Bucky off of his cock and scoots back the chair. He pats his thigh for Bucky to come closer— and he looks  _ sinful.  _

Gaping like a fish, he gawks at how truly fucked-out Steve looks. His hairline is lined with sweat, cheekbones glistening in the warm lighting. His lips are bitten and red, plush and pretty as ever. 

Wordlessly, Steve pulls Bucky back onto his cock, forceful. He moans— he loves it when Steve takes what he wants. Loves Steve, loves his cock, loves everything. He wants it all. 

“Relax your throat. Breathe in,” he commands. 

Doing as instructed, Steve grapples Bucky’s hair with a brutal pull, bending his neck back. He forces Bucky’s mouth back down onto his cock at an intense speed. 

It’s so hard,  _ so hard  _ to keep his mouth relaxed, but miraculously he does. With each thrust Steve hits the back of his throat. He thanks the  _ Gods _ that he doesn’t have that much of a gag reflex. 

“You like that Buck? You like cryin’ on this dick? Hm?” he asks, low. 

More tears leak from his eyes in response— whether it’s from the throat-fucking or his words, he’s not sure. 

“Yeah. Should’a known. You cry real pretty Buck, never seen a thing like it,” he husks, the vein in his throat visible. 

He whines helplessly as Steve’s pace intensifies impossibly, chasing release. 

“You jus’ wanna sit there and  _ take it _ , baby. A real pillow princess, huh? Yeah. That’s what you are,” he groans and Bucky feels his dick swell in his throat. 

Steve bucks his hips up one last time before stiffening, legs stuttering as he unloads into Bucky’s mouth. 

Hot come fills his mouth, wave after wave of it spurting down his throat. He swallows dutifully and he moans at the bitter-salty taste on his tongue. 

Bucky looks up at Steve, and he’s looking down at him like he’s got the answer to all the secrets of the world. He wonders if that’s how he looks at Steve. 

“Get up,” he barks at Bucky. He likes it when Steve isn’t always kind. Steve quickly tucks himself back in and zippers back up. 

Steve pulls him to standing by his hair, and they stand eye to eye for a moment before Bucky’s thrown over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. 

“Wha— huh?!” he squeals as he goes, body still loose and pliant. 

“I need to shower. You do too,” he decides, and that’s final. 

Everything’s a little bit blurry feeling, like he’s not really present. Like a spirit ascending to heaven in a way, but not really that dramatic. 

He’s not really paying attention as Steve turns the shower on and hustles the both of them in, but he  _ really _ is paying attention now when Steve begins to wash his hair. 

“You back with me?” Steve asks as Bucky rouses. 

“Mmghn…” is all he can get out, but it will suffice. 

He melts as Steve’s thick fingers massage his skull, lathering up the thick locks. 

“Now I can really see why you don’t want to cut your hair, Buck. I spoil you too much,” he says, light. 

“True. Don’t stop,” he asks, small, leaning back against Steve’s broad chest. 

“Won’t,” he says, kissing Bucky’s cheek. 

This is good. This is something he thought he could never have, all those years ago. 

Just two kids in Brooklyn— one with a martyr complex the size of Staten Island, never knowing when to back down from a fight, and the other with a girl on his arm every night— even though chasing skirts wasn’t  _ really _ what he wanted. 

What he really wanted is right here,  _ now, _ with Steve. It’s everything and more. 

Steve rinses off his hair gently, minding the knots. He lathers up a washcloth and scrubs around Bucky’s body, paying extra attention to his chest and his painfully hard cock. 

He’s crowded behind Bucky,  _ hard again _ , and smooshed against his neck breathing wetly. 

The washcloth reaches between his thighs and brushes his taint all the way to his — oh shit. He forgot. 

Steve freezes, hand once delicate on his hip now gripping brutally. 

“You had this in the entire time?!” 

Bucky squeaks and hides his face with his hands. That’s probably not the best thing to do, because Steve abandons the  _ amazing _ full-body wash he was just being spoiled with and hounds him out of the shower. 

_ Impatient, _ he scoffs internally. Steve picks him up with an arm wrapped around his trunk and one between his thigh and wrestles him into the bedroom, groping and manhandling. 

Bucky sighs in pleasure at being thrown onto the bed, smiling like a dope. Steve chuckles darkly as he crawls over him, heedless of soaking their sheets. 

“Had that in there for me? Hmmm? What made you think you were getting some, Buck?” 

“Well, I mean—” 

“Don’t mouth off to me, Buck,” he warns. 

Oh. That’s interesting. 

“ _ What are you gonna do about it?” _

Wrong answer. 

Steve grabs him and throws him over his lap like an overgrown child and pins him face-down into the mattress with a hand at the back of his neck. 

A huge hand caresses his bare cheek, surveying and planning its next mode of attack. 

“You want to keep talking back to me, honey?” he asks, pinching at the sensitive skin of his inner thigh. 

He wriggles in protest and cries, but Steve’s hold allows no movement. 

“You don’t scare me,” he bites back, meekly. 

“Your voice says otherwise, sweetheart,” he purrs as a hand suddenly  _ thwaps _ at his right cheek. 

The slap nudges the plug inside, eliciting a broken cry from his throat. His skin burns from the point of contact and he inhales a breath through clenched teeth. 

“You like that, huh? Of course you would. Such a slut for pain,” he says, cracking another shovel-hand against his cheek. 

Bucky cries and screams, but Steve only chuckles at his futile attempts. He’s hard and leaking profusely against Steve’s bare thigh. The position is so intimate, his pinked-up bare ass on display only for his eyes. 

Steve lands a few more cracks against his ass, rotating cheeks so his hits are even. The skin  _ burns,  _ and his tears flow freely on the already-damp comforter. 

Each slap makes his hole clench around the base of the plug. He feels the crests of orgasm already crashing over him, just from that simple stimulation. 

He sobs loudly, wailing with each heavy hand landing against his bare ass. If he could look in a mirror right now, he’d bet his bottom dollar that he looks like a fucked-out mess. 

His nose is stuffy and runny with snot, eyes puffy from tears and cheeks ruddy from the pain. His pupils are probably blown out, overflowed with endorphins. 

Before he knows it, a gentle hand caresses his bruised skin almost in apology. He’s pretty sure that he gets laid out on the bed, but he’s not really home right now. 

When he comes to, he’s on his side and Steve is plastered against his back. He feels the plug being taken out, whining at the loss. 

“You keep disappearin’ on me, Buck. You alright?” he asks timidly. 

“I’m  _ flying.”  _

Steve lets out a real laugh, a genuine belly laugh and runs a hand down his flank. 

“You still want to?” 

His mouth still isn’t quite connected to his brain yet, so he just grinds his ass back against Steve’s cock to show his assent. 

“Think I’m too tired to last too long, baby,” he says, slicking himself up and lining himself up to his hole. 

“‘S okay. Love you.” 

Steve breathes. “Yeah. I love you too.” 

He plunges in without warning and Bucky keens with the stretch. Instantly, his brain and body are back in gear and begins a filthy grind on Steve’s cock. 

“Relax,” he calms, “Shhh… just take it, baby. Let me.” 

He relinquishes control easily, and allows himself to be pulled like a doll against Steve’s chest. 

And it’s just  _ great, the best feeling ever,  _ being held so close like he’s something precious one minute— and the next he’s thrown around like a toy. 

Steve takes his time, fucking into Bucky at a leisurely pace. He breathes as warms blooms in his chest, heart swelling with adoration for this man. 

Back flush to Steve’s chest, he can feel the other man’s heart beat steadily. So strong and healthy. 

If someone were to tell Past Bucky that Steve’d one day tower over him and he as healthy as a horse, he’d laugh right in your face and tell you to get lost. 

But now it’s so real, and it hurts in such a good way. His heart hurts that he’ll never get that small Stevie again. But he’s happy. He’ll take Steve any way, shape, or form he can get him. 

Steve noses at the sensitive skin under his ear and sucks wet kisses along the back of his neck. He leans into it, letting the warmth of Steve bleed into his own. 

“So pretty, Buck. The best. Best a guy can ask for,” he breathes, lips pressed into his neck. 

Steve continues his torturous slow grind, filthy and wet. It’s setting his mind on  _ fire  _ with want, and he just needs to come. 

“ _ Steve,”  _ he cries, tilting his head back. 

“What do you need?” 

He sobs. “Need— _ need to come.” _

“I don’t think that was a very nice way of asking,” he taunts. 

“ _ Please!” _ he chokes out, moaning brokenly. Steve’s still going as slow as molasses and it’s driving him  _ crazy.  _

“Please what?” 

Now he’s just torturing him. 

“ _ Oh my god,” _ he screams, voice cracking. 

“You can call me that, but I prefer Steve,” he says, shrugging. 

“ _ Please— ngh— let me come!”  _

“Aw, of course, since you asked so sweetly, honey. Who would I be to refuse you?” 

_ Thank you god, thank you god thank you god _

Steve wraps a hand around his cock and pumps rapidly, seeking a means to an end. He snaps his hips against Bucky’s, slapping of skin loud in the quiet room. 

He clenches around Steve’s cock as he comes, wailing loudly as he spills over the sheets and Steve’s fist. 

Steve follows suit only a few seconds later, hot come filling him up just right, dripping out as he thrusts through his orgasm. 

He allows himself to be pulled back against Steve’s chest again, and a hand reaches up to rub in his come over his belly. 

Snuggling back into the embrace, he smiles secretly to himself and lets himself slip away for a little bit. 

When he finally comes back to himself, he’s in the bath. He’s seated on Steve’s lap, back to chest in their huge bathtub in the master bedroom. Steve’s thighs bracket his, running warm even through the bath water. 

A warm hand rubs down his chest, and he’d be pretty damn near close to purring if he could. 

“You with me?” asks Steve, stroking his chest lovingly. 

He leans into the touch. “Mhm.” 

“You did something pretty intense today, Bucky. How are you feeling?” 

“Good. Never better,” he tilts his neck to meet Steve’s and their dopey expressions mirror each other’s. 

Steve’s lips capture his in a sweet kiss, chaste in comparison to what they’ve done earlier. He swallows the little moans Steve lets out and tucks them away for safekeeping. 

They pull away to look at each other, and it just hurts. It hurts in the best way. 

Bucky’s heart clenches as he looks at Steve, so whole and so perfect, sitting right in front of him. 

He’s not going anywhere, and he cries. 

Steve turns Bucky around in the bath to straddle his lap, and lets Bucky slump against his chest and cry it out. 

“I love you, Buck. I don’t want you to forget that.” 

Bucky looks up and sees that Steve’s eyes are red ringed and dewy, and it takes him aback. 

He’s never seen Steve cry before. 

All his life, Steve had been the strong one. Didn’t even shed a tear at his poor Ma’s funeral— just looked at him in the eye and said, “ _ well what now, Buck? Where do I go from here?”  _ and honestly, Bucky didn’t have the answer for that. 

Just slung an arm around his neck and offered him a place to stay. 

Oh. 

_ He remembers.  _

All at once it hits him, and Steve just watches in confusion as a torrent of emotions pass his face. 

_ “I’m with you ‘till the end of the line, pal.” _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> GAH! I cried so hard writing this, actually. Like, I got the feels real bad.  
> I'm so sad that this is the end! I loved writing this, and I hope you all enjoyed reading it as much as I did writing it!  
> Until the next time ;)

**Author's Note:**

> Come visit me [here](https://twitter.com/leaflibrarian) on twitter and you can listen to me rant and talk Stucky. ;)


End file.
